Four Seasons
by Ravenya03
Summary: A series of four vignettes featuring my two favourite outlaws and their unique friendship/growing attraction to one another. It's probably not who you think...


_Okay, it's no secret that I loved the Allan/Djaq ship. That's not to say I don't also love Will/Djaq, which was awfully cute (and, at the end of the day,  
Will DID deserve Djaq more than Allan), but I just thought that A/D had the potential to be something much more angsty, interesting and unique. I saw the potential for it right from the start, and it fascinated me just as much as Allan and Djaq seemed to fascinate each other._

_But, I should really let this fic do the explaining. The idea here is to give them a few moments together that we didn't see on the show, but which (hopefully!) highlight what it was I loved about this ship so much: the idea that two people could be so impossibly different, and yet still find some common ground and feel a growing attraction to each other._

_I hope you enjoy, and feel free to jump on board the Allan/Djaq ship; there's plenty of room, and as another fan of this ship told me - if it sinks, we'll just turn it into a submarine!_

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**Four Seasons**

_Love is Friendship Set on Fire_

**Winter**

Through the bare trees of Sherwood walked a strange couple: a scruffy-looking cloaked man and a dark-skinned woman, engaged in a conversation that was often broken by laughter that rang out loudly in the stillness of the forest.

Empty sacks were slung over their shoulders, and they were arguing about the chores that needed to be done once they returned to camp – more precisely, whose turn it was to rinse the dishes. The eating utensils had been abruptly left behind when a tree-alarm had alerted the outlaws to a particularly foolish traveller, whose wealth had just been distributed among the peasantry. Because of an injured hand and a slight cold, Robin had allowed these two to take their share to the closer settlement of Edwinstowe, so that they might return more quickly to the relative comfort of camp.

In Allan's mind, the only thing that stood in the way of a tantalisingly free afternoon lounging about camp was a pile of grubby plates and mugs.

"Now, why wouldn't you want to take a nice, relaxin' stroll down to the river to clean a couple of plates?"

"You make it sound so enjoyable, I would not want to rob you of the experience. Besides _I _did it last time."

"Well, you got _that _part wrong. _I _did it last time."

"As I recall, you threw it all in a sack, dunked it in the water, accidentally let go…and then made Will fetch it out again."

"Yeah, but they were still clean. Look – I have an idea: why don't we flip for it?"

A frown crossed Djaq's face.

"Flip for it?" she repeated, confused.

Pleased at the chance to explain something to _her_ for a change, he pulled a coin out of his pocket.

"Gimme your knife," he told her, and once she obliged, he began to scratch something onto the surface of each side. She peered at his handiwork curiously. Weeks ago, whilst waiting in the rain for Robin to complete an errand in Nottingham, Djaq had tried to amuse the two of them by writing out their names with a stick in the mud. Now she could see he was etching a capital "D" and "A" onto each side of the coin, and was surprised that he'd managed to remember the shape of their initials.

"Now, I flip the coin, and we let it decides who does the work, and who has a rest."

She considered it, then said:

"Very well. If it lands on A, you do the dishes. If it lands on D, I have a rest."

Then she smiled at him.

His hands suddenly fumbled in the act of flicking the coin into the air, and her smile widened. Embarrassed at his delayed reaction to her trick, he tried to appear sheepish. Better to let her think he was slow on the uptake than for her to know it had been her smile that had distracted him.

She confused him, that was the problem. Women were meant to be curvy, giggly, simple creatures, with more below the neck than between the ears. One needed only to smile at them, flatter them, bring them a gift or two, and the rest was easy. But how was one supposed to treat a stocky, dirt-streaked, short-haired Saracen who would probably punch you in the gut if you attempted to present her with flowers or love tokens? Not that he would even try a thing like that anyway – the very thought made him cringe. He'd be better off getting her a book…or something she could kill people with.

The whole situation was so baffling to him that he was oddly pleased that she was dressed as a boy. Having her figure concealed under baggy pants and a bulky vest made her easier to talk to. And because of that, he found himself treating her like a little brother: someone to tease, someone to look out for, someone to hold affection toward, all carefully hidden behind jokes and nudges and a devil-may-care attitude.

Djaq was just glad for the chance to laugh again. It had been her brother's appointed task in life to bring out her less-solemn side, and she had been certain that part of her had died when he did. But right from the start, this man had made her smile, from the time they'd silently conspired to put the fear of God into Much, to just now, when his blue eyes crinkled at confusion at her play on words. In that way, he reminded her of her brother, though since that moment in a stinking alley, when she'd tentatively run a hand down his arm and revealed the origin of her name, they'd both been reluctant to use that word in each other's company.

In any case, it felt good to laugh. It gave her strength against all her current troubles: the cold, the rain, the hunger, and the loneliness of being a solitary Easterner adrift in a country that had declared war on her own. In the moment it took to give herself up to laughter, all that worry and grief was wiped away, and for those few precious seconds, everything was well in the world.

As for him, he just liked the sound of it, especially when it came from her. It was the one time she revealed her true nature, and he liked catching a glimpse of it: her laugh was loud and hearty, but unmistakably feminine. And when he was the cause of such mirth, so much the better. He couldn't deny that it made him feel good, made him feel he was worth something; the fact that he alone could draw this out of her. The other outlaws made her smile, but only he could make her laugh.

The sound couldn't fill his belly, or warm him at night, or keep him safe from castle guards, but it was a nice sound nonetheless, and since neither one of them really trusted happiness – not the lasting kind, anyway – they each took advantage of such moments when they could.

"Nice try," he told her, plucking the coin up from the muddy ground and resetting it on his thumb. "A means I do the dishes, D means _you _do them."

The coin spun in the air, and landed on the ground, the D turned upwards toward the winter sun, the A facing downward into the mud. Djaq sighed and shrugged amiably.

"Very well. I'll do them."

They continued on, but when they reached their makeshift home, Allan managed to surprise himself by helping her with the task anyway.

**Spring**

It was not till many weeks later, when the frost thawed and the flowers began to bloom in the clearings, that the tiny glimpses of each other they had been carefully passing back and forth, suddenly became windows opening into hearts and minds – though it was done entirely without the other's knowledge.

It was evening, the campfire was lit, and they had all fallen into reminiscing. One by one, each had recalled how they had come to be a part of this assortment of outlaws living under the trees of Sherwood. Eventually, Robin told the tale of the first man he had saved on his return to England, a poacher who had pleaded with his captors:

"My wife! She needs to eat or we'll lose the baby!"

The others laughed at the thought of such a lie: "Just as well it wasn't true!" John declared, followed by Much reminding them of Allan's dubious tactics in keeping babies quiet.

She'd heard similar lies leave his mouth before in their dealings in and around Nottingham:

"S'alright there sir, we're just takin' these supplies to my cousin in the next street."

"My girl! My little daughter, I think she's lost around 'ere somewhere. She's only a little dot, but you must 'ave seen her!"

"I'm just looking for my brother – he's a castle guard too y'know. You heard of a bloke called Jacob? Should be on duty about this time…"

Stories always flew effortlessly from his mouth, and the immense imaginary family that he had built up in his mind came in handy when it came to distracting guards, throwing off suspicious minds, or getting the six of them where they needed to go. They had joked about it afterwards, and he had always laughed loudest of all.

But Djaq was watching him closely this time as the noise died down and saw something she hadn't expected. There was sadness, and longing, and regret mingled in his eyes as he looked absent-mindedly into the campfire. She suddenly understood why he liked to say those lies out loud.

He was quick to change the subject, turning instead to his seemingly endless supply of jokes and anecdotes, which grew cruder and therefore more incomprehensible to the more pure-minded of the gang as the night wore on. She pulled her knees up to her chin and presented an air of disinterestedness, letting her gaze fall listlessly into the fire as he spoke.

Allan knew he could be charming when he really needed to be, but he never felt guilty at telling such jokes in her presence. He simply assumed she hadn't the slightest idea what he was talking about. Already Much and Will had blank looks on their faces, and only John's disapproving expression and Robin's chuckling gave him much satisfaction. Then he cast a glance in Djaq's direction as she changed her closed-up posture in order to scratch her chin, and he caught a glimpse of the secret smirk on her face. It was swiftly gone again, but now that he'd seen it, nothing could hide her eyes gleaming wickedly as they watched the firelight. He was so gob-smacked he almost choked on the punch-line. All this time, she'd understood every word he'd said – every single vulgarity he'd ever mentioned about the anatomy, bodily functions and mating habits of his fellow man. And she found it _funny. _

Where had such knowledge come from? Was it because she was a physician? Were Saracen women more educated in such matters? Or was it just Djaq herself, who sometimes seemed to know about everything under the sun?

When everyone retired to their bunks, he was still dumbstruck, and more confused than ever. Yet he supposed he shouldn't really be surprised. He had noticed her spark of mischief before, acknowledged the strange and lovely blend of innocence and experience that made up her being. But despite his own knowledge of the opposite sex (which, he considered for the first time, was perhaps faulty) he could not figure out which aspect of her made up the innermost part of her being: the girl who laughed or the woman who understood.

**Summer**

He'd been watching them for weeks now, the small patch of strawberries gradually growing and ripening, and he was looking more forward to her reaction to the taste of them than anything he'd ever anticipated before. He had it all planned out in his head, exactly how he wanted it to go, and the most important aspect was that it was just the two of them. In a life where everything else of value that came into his possession was quickly taken away again, he wanted the expression on her face when she tried one for the first time all to himself.

Of course, he was careful not to get too hopeful or excited, as these things had a way of backfiring on him, but there finally came a time when Will and Robin were late in returning from their drop-off, and Much and John were drowsing lazily in their bunks. She was cutting some herb or other into shreds, tipping it carefully into one of her pouches. Her hair was longer now, and he could not help but compare her favourably to Marian. Marian, who had wept when her own dark hair was cut short – he could not imagine Djaq doing any such a thing over such a trivial matter - and although Marian's hair had soon grown out again, he hoped Djaq would keep hers short. If it was short, it was easier to casually ruffle, and so gave him an excuse to touch her.

He wet his lips and took a breath. It was now or never.

"Hey Djaq – follow me. Got summin' to show you."

She followed quizzically, and soon a game emerged as she tried to guess their destination. He just smiled and kept his mouth shut, something that only served to increase her playful frustration. It wasn't like him to be quiet. Finally, he brushed back a branch and gestured to the patch of strawberries before them. Casting him a glance he couldn't decipher, she moved forward and crouched before the tiny plant.

"Do these have medicinal properties?" she asked, looking up at him.

He didn't quite understand her words, but the meaning of them were clear, and as he crouched down beside her he said: "No. You just eat them."

He picked one and held it out to her, the muscles in his arm clenching against the urge to raise it to her mouth. Instead she took it from his hand, and did that part herself, carefully smelling the fruit before tasting it. Slowly a smile spread across her face.

"What are they?"

"Strawberries," he told her, running his eyes over every aspect of her delighted face, committing it to memory. Together they began to indulge in the rare treat, raking the bushes thoroughly for the hidden berries.

She watched him out the corner of her eye. He'd reverted back to his more youthful mannerisms, not the more weary, tired-out persona that was appearing more frequently these days. It was troubling to see, but then – almost arbitrarily – he would seem to shrug off all his troubles, stand up straighter and find something to laugh about. Life often seemed to be an endless running race: since her family's death she'd been running from danger, running from death, running from pain and tragedy and heartache. It was something she'd come to accept in her lifetime, and she was all the more thankful for moments like this because of it. Yet she was worried about him. He'd been running longer than her, and she could sense that he was tiring.

"We should have brought a basket – to take some back to the others," she said to shake her mind from such foreboding thoughts.

"Nah – there aren't that many. I've been watching this patch for a while."

The hidden implications of this settled heavily in the air, and both avoided looking at the other for a while as they hunted in the foliage for any strawberries they'd missed.

They were in a reflective mood that day, and each one's thoughts were turned toward the other, pondering the strange reality of their togetherness. Allan was a gambler, and Djaq was a scientist, and so both were aware of the impossible odds against the two of them ever knowing each other, let alone falling into a friendship. Two people so different should by all accounts have nothing in common with one another, yet there they were: an illiterate, dishonest English man and an educated, trustworthy Saracen woman picking strawberries together. It really was the strangest thing…

Then he told a joke, and the sense that they had slipped further into some indefinable danger quickly evaporated, though both were still mildly uncomfortable on returning back to camp.

**Autumn**

When darkness fell, so did the quiet, and things changed. Movements were more careful, glances were more serious, and as such, less frequent.

The cold came creeping back into the nights, and the outlaws would forego their separate bunks to lay their blankets around the fire that would burn on throughout the night. Sleeping arrangements had been organised long ago for these situations, and it had been John who had quietly told Allan in no uncertain terms that he was to sleep as far away as possible from the single female member of the gang. As such, Djaq's place was closest to the fire, and it was usually Will or Much who would stretch out beside her to warm her back; the darkness and the cold undermining any embarrassment either one might feel at lying in such close proximity to an unmarried woman.

Mindful of John's protective nature toward what he considered his most vulnerable ward, Allan always lay on the other side of the fire, and so quite incidentally, it was each other that they faced while waiting for sleep to come. To hide the potential awkwardness of the layout and the connotations it carried, they made a game of it. The one who fell asleep first was declared the looser in the morning, and a small white stone passed hands to the victor. Neither chose to mention the unspoken fact that such a game meant that - perhaps for a few moments - one must have watched the other's sleeping face, gazing from across the fire that was burning softly between them.

_The End_

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_Note: the segment in **Winter **that describes how Djaq and Allan "silently conspired to put the fear of God into Much" refers to the moment in "Turk Flu" in which Djaq convinces Much to renounce his God and Allan follows up by grabbing Much's shoulder from behind, scaring him half to death. The fact that they team up in order to pull this prank before they've even MET each other speaks volumes._


End file.
